Skinny jeans, form-fitting, like a glove. A glove the holds and makes my butt look so good. I like how denim can start off smooth, fresh from the store or the online marketplace, and overtime become a little older, rougher, like all things I guess. Like there become stories involved in that stain, that rip, that fray. The dark blue with the little white lines creating nearly invisible streaks, grids. I am reminded of back-to-school shopping, which for me as child would start off excitedly and end in emotional upheaval. My mom and I wouldn’t always see eye-to-eye. I just could never get as excited about clothes as I would guitars. It’s not like that anymore, and honestly I’m glad I grew up. I’m glad that our shopping trips have become (not that we’ve taken any recently) fun, civilized, enjoyable. I do not miss days of insecurity and perhaps thats what I have no true nostalgia for high school, even college. No one ever told me body image didn’t matter, or if they did I didn’t hear them. Because I never knew I was suffering from self-esteem issues even related to that. As an emotionally immature teenager, it’s way more accessible to spiral out and get depressed about a thing, than do something about it, or become knowledgable in the ways that thing is constructed to break you down. How it’s not gospel, and even if it was – what is gospel? Other than a mistranslated text that was probably dictated in its original language before it was written. Accept maybe the St. Paul letters – since they were written. All of that though is astounding to me. I like denim jackets, pins, and patches. I like the jeans that hold my body. It is aesthetic that feels right. This fabric that has evolved beyond the cowboy and Levis commercials. I just want to feel good forever. What can I do to cultivate that? A lesson I learned as I got older was that it’s okay to feel good in your own skin. It’s okay to wear clothes that make you feel like a million bucks.